


harbors of my own

by maharlika



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, RPF, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/pseuds/maharlika
Summary: Chris always takes the dogs out in the morning. His body wakes up at 5 AM without his input, and it’s easier to go along with it than try to change it. It’s routine, by now.It’s routine, too, to press a kiss to Tom’s pale shoulder, seemingly untouched by the Australian sun but for a faint smattering of freckles down its slope. To watch that nest of copper hair twitch and burrow deeper into the blankets.A Hiddlesworth fic set in an AU where they started dating in 2010.
Relationships: Chris Hemsworth/Tom Hiddleston
Comments: 15
Kudos: 140





	harbors of my own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lokijunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokijunkie/gifts).



> written as a commission for andromeda ❤️

**June 2019**

Chris always takes the dogs out in the morning. His body wakes up at 5 AM without his input, and it’s easier to go along with it than try to change it. It’s routine, by now. 

It’s routine, too, to press a kiss to Tom’s pale shoulder, seemingly untouched by the Australian sun but for a faint smattering of freckles down its slope. To watch that nest of copper hair twitch and burrow deeper into the blankets. 

After a morning run on the beach with Sunny and Bobby, it’s a one-hour workout at home, a protein shake, then a quick shower. And then after that, it’s soft sheets again, and a soft man slowly starting to stir, and a soft cock in Chris’s mouth until Tom is roused to wakefulness. 

“ _Chris_ topher,” Tom says, part admonishment and part delight. The velvet timbre of his voice is almost a physical weight, draping down Chris’s shoulders like the delicate heel of his foot. 

Chris gives him one long suck, swirls the tip of his tongue across the head of Tom’s cock, and pulls off.

“Morning, babe,” he says, grinning.

“Get back to it,” Tom says lazily, settling back into the bed.

Chris huffs out a laugh, but obeys, suckling with determination and almost a decade’s worth of practice. Almost a decade. It’s ridiculous to think about, but it’s been on Chris’s mind a lot lately. 

“Pay attention,” Tom says, running his toes down Chris’s back, and Chris rolls his eyes and focuses, sucking and licking until Tom’s toes are curling against his back, the gentlest of pressures, and he’s coming apart on the bed. On their bed, with the fading sheets they picked out five years ago, when they first moved in together.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Tom murmurs, drowsy as Chris shimmies up and spoons him from behind. He’s not a small man, Thomas, but Chris loves the way he looks framed between his arms. Not fragile, no, but…precious. Something Chris can cup in his hands and call _beloved_.

“Just thinking…been almost ten years,” Chris says, tucking Tom’s head under his chin and listening to the windows rustle with the breeze.

“Mmm,” Tom says, and Chris knows he’s about to fall asleep, so he pokes and prods him out of bed and into the shower, and he goes into the kitchen and starts to make breakfast.

**July 2019**

New York is a wonder, and so is Broadway, but Tom can barely take it in. It shouldn’t be this bad, not after all this time, but it is. He misses Chris. Misses him like a line from a play that won’t stop playing in his head, a broken record that only says, _Miss you, wish you were here, say hi to the pups,_ over and over. 

It’s easier when he throws himself into his work, so he does. Goes to rehearsals and acts his heart out, eats melon every week (four shows a week and a matinee on Sundays) and tries not to choke on it, brushes off Charlie and Zawe’s concern with a tired but genuine smile. Keeps playing his part through stagedoor, only letting the facade fall when he’s in bed in the apartment he’s renting, Chris’s face glowing on his phone. 

While New York is dark, Byron Bay sparkles in the background of Chris’s videos, the late afternoon sun too harsh in the dim light of Tom’s room. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

“You sure you’re taking care of yourself?” Chris asks, walking up the winding path to their home, half-distracted by the two dogs pulling on his leash. Tom had wanted to take Bobby with him to New York, but didn’t want to leave Sunny bereft. 

“I miss you,” Tom says instead of answering, and the pull of Chris’s face into a small smile is enough to have his heart skip a beat.

“Miss you too, babe,” Chris murmurs. 

**September 2019**

Chris isn’t the type for big romantic gestures. He likes to keep it simple: cracking joke’s when Tom is feeling down, making a home-cooked meal, taking over an errand, buying small gifts. So he’s a little bit nervous about what he’s planning on doing—what he’s _been_ planning on doing three days into an empty house and waking up to Tom’s side of the bed empty, cold.

Like all carefully-laid plans, this one seems to go to shit as soon as it’s set in motion—the dogs get sick, the paparazzi are too snoopy, and there’s teeth-gritting delays for hours on end at the airport. By the time Chris’s plane lands, he’s not feeling too happy with himself. But he gets himself ready, waits for the night to descend, and relishes the familiar, nervous _thump_ of his heart as he slips into the cool, buzzing theater on the opening night of _Betrayal_ on Broadway. 

The attendants let him in just before the show starts, to give him a measure of privacy. This is, after all, supposed to be a surprise. 

He’s not really a theater person, Christopher. But there’s something about the way the lights turn down, the way the curtains pull apart, that these days sets his heart into a sprint. 

And when Tom steps foot onto the stage, he feels the ache in his chest loosen almost immediately. It’s not just a reaction to seeing his boyfriend onstage. It’s also the knowledge that, with Tom, he’s in good hands. There’s no other actor who puts him at ease so effortlessly. 

He settles himself into his seat, and enjoys the show.

\--

Afterwards, he waits till the end of curtain call to slip outside and make his way to the stage door. Feels nervous energy start to slip around his chest and limbs again, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the bouquet of roses he’s brought with him. 

There’s already a crowd of fans waiting, because that’s just how these things go. He waits, a cap pulled down low over his face, tucking himself into the shadows in some alley in New York, probably looking like a creep in the half-light. No one is paying him any sort of attention. Of course not: Thomas is the king of this court.

Eventually, though, Chris shakes himself loose and walks over to where the crowd is starting to thin, just a little. There’s a sudden hush as he makes his way through the flocks of fans, but thankfully, Tom doesn’t notice until Chris is almost at his elbow. 

“Can I get a selfie too?” Chris asks, and Tom turns to him.

His face drops in what is probably a hilarious expression.

Chris wouldn’t know—he’s too busy kissing him. 

It’s a quick one, just a press of the lips, but it’s enough to make him feel electric. It’s also enough to get the crowd going, shrieks and cheers spilling from every corner. The guards have to herd them away, but they wave and let their pictures get taken with arms around each other’s waists, Tom holding Chris’s bouquet up to his chest.

At some point, Tom tucks his face into Chris’s neck in a delighted little laugh, and murmurs, “I love you, you utter sap,” and Chris grins in triumph. 

**November 2019**

New York is nice.

Correction: New York with Chris is nice.

“I miss the dogs,” Chris says, pulling off from Tom’s cock when Tom is properly hard and leaking, wiping the back of his mouth as he crawls back up the bed. 

“Mmm,” Tom says, spooning Chris from behind, pressing his face up against Chris’s shoulder and tucking his cock into the swell of Chris’s ass. “Should’ve brought them with you.”

“Would’ve been— _ah_ —a nightmare at the airport,” Chris says, reaching a hand out to blindly grasp Tom’s hand. 

“ _Mmmhm_ ,” Tom hums, rolling his hips, lacing their fingers together.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Chris breathes, “ _fuck_.”

Final correction: New York bustling outside while he lies in bed with Chris and slowly, sleepily fucks him, is _fantastic._

__

**January 2020**

__

It’s always different, being on the set of a Marvel production. There’s a manic energy to it, to carrying on the work of a series of movies that have taken on a life of their own. A global phenomenon that Chris is so, so grateful to be a part of. 

__

It means something else to him too, he thinks, as he walks down the hall to where Tom’s dressing room is. The plaque on the door says, simply, _Loki_.

__

They came out to the public five years ago, taking that terrifying leap only when they’d fully established themselves as people and as actors, but this was where it all started, really. With Thor and with Loki. With Tom, bright-eyed and so painfully earnest, and Chris flying by the seat of his pants. 

__

Now here they are, almost ten years to the day.

__

Chris lifts his hand and knocks.

__

Tom answers the door, and Chris’s heart skips a beat. He’ll never tire of the feeling. 

__

“Your hair,” Chris says, instead of a greeting. 

__

Tom’s hand immediately flies to his sleek black locks. 

__

He smiles, self-conscious in the way he only ever is around Chris. 

__

“Strange, isn’t it?”

__

“Makes you look ten years younger,” Chris says, raising an eyebrow, and walking into the room as Tom steps aside.

__

“I’d hate to think you were implying something there, Christopher,” Tom says, and grins, and _fuck_. He looks so much like the first time Chris saw him. Like the first time Chris fell in love with him. 

__

The door clicks shut behind them.

__

Later, he’ll bend Tom over at his dressing room mirror, pound his cock into him the way he did the first time they ever fucked. Later, Tom will sit on his lap and ride him, slow and shivery, watching the door and hoping no one knocks. Later.

__

Right now, though, all Chris can do is step up to the man he’s loved for ten years, the man he’s grateful to be able to love for the rest of his _life_ , and use the slightest height advantage he has over Tom to bend down, and kiss him deeply. 

__

“I love you,” Chris says, the weight of ten years behind it.

__

“I love you,” Tom replies, the promise of ten, twenty, fifty years to follow. 

__

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on twitter @sendaraven :)


End file.
